Back to Humanity
by Stucky'sdyke
Summary: Bucky has been pardoned, he's been taken in by the Avengers, he even has a therapy dog. Still, recovery is slow, painful, and the prospect of becoming an Avenger is both exciting, but also terrifying? Perhaps the company of an old friend, who he could never have imagined being with before, could help give him what he needs
1. Prologue: a soldier in the wreckage

**Author's Note: this is a writing experiment I am doing as a way of exploring what it means to recover from PTSD. This story will cover trauma, therapy, sexual disfunction and discovery, as well as the long road to rediscovery of self and of romantic feelings. Thank you for bearing with me. Please share and comment. Thank you!**

When they found Bucky, he was curled up in the fetal position. It was in the wreckage of what had once been a helicarrier, still in dock. The Winter Soldier had been sent to shield's headquarters to find Captain Rogers, but since shield was folding in on itself due to Hydra's involvement coming to the service, the organization was slowly collapsing.

This docked helacarrier was being cleaned by only a few staff, who managed to escape after firing a few warning shots at the Winter Soldier. He had torn through the haul with his metal arm and was searching, when a large area of roof collapsed on top of him. Natasha approached confidently, knowing fear would set off the super soldier. Cautiously she got down on one knee, keeping her hands where Bucky could see them.

"I thought the red scare was over and done with, but you've certainly proved me wrong," she said, deciding to use humor to create rapport rather than show pity.

"God..." Bucky sobbed into his knees. "Is... is Steve okay? Did I hurt anyone?"

"Steve is outside, wants to see you. We had to stop him from coming in here, we were worried that you would.. um... revert, as it were," said the Black Widow, biting her lip, nervous about what to tell him.

Bucky groaned, clenching his teeth together and shiving as if cold. "I don't want to hurt anyone," he murmured.

"You won't. The Cap and I managed to get you a full pardon from the US president. You're going to stay in your own floor of the Avenger's Tower until you have fully recovered."

Buckky looked up at her incredulously, not believing her words, or that he could ever get past this. She quickly added, "recovery from something like this might be for the rest of your life. I'm not going to pad that for you." She stood up walking through the path she had cleared through the debris, adding "Priyekhat," which is Russian for 'come,' as she went.

He crawled after the Black Widow, not even realizing that he was crying as he went. He really only went because he had nowhere else to go. He also trusted the Black Widow, trusted Natasha, he told himself, because he knew that she had been through similar brainwashing and torture as he had. Bits of metal and rubble cut into his knees and flesh hand as he went, and as he exited the hella carrier, he left a trail of blood behind him.


	2. Chapter 1 Home at Last?

On the drive to Avenger's Tower, he rode in a short limo provided by Tony, with Natasha, a paid security guard to drive, and a med-tech who worked in the Avenger's Tower infirmary. The windows of the limo were blacked out so that Buck couldn't see outside and no one else could see in. He was wrapped in a blanket, which was pulled up over his shoulders and covered his eyes. Natasha held his hands steady as the med-tech used tweezers to remove the bits of rubble and metal, knowing that the cuts would heal fine on their own, due to the bastardized super serum.

"Just a few more, Sergeant Barnes," muttered the woman quickly pulling a sliver of metal out of Buck's flesh hand as he

winced. Natasha held his hands gently, but had him pressed into the seat with her body weight. Even though it was a measure to make sure he didn't hurt the poor girl, Bucky appreciated the feeling of human touch, and he focused on the weight and the light hands, realizing that he hadn't been handled with such care in over seventy years.

"Gahh... You're a brave little thing, you know that?" he breathed, focusing and trying not to think of the medical instrument or the inclosed space.

"I specialized in enhanced humans in my schooling, I wanted to help the world's defenders," she whispered, clearly new and scared.

Even though Buck couldn't see her face and kept his eyes covered by the blanket, he gave her a brief smile, a rehearsed, fake feeling gesture, but it ellicited a laugh.

"Okay," she said, more confidently than before. "hand is done. Now for your knees."

Natasha gently pulled his hands back and pushed his knees a bit forward. By the time all the debris was removed and band-aids placed over the cuts to keep blood from getting everywhere, they had arrived.

Natasha pulled the blanket over Bucky's head and said to him, "we're going in through the loading bay. There's still going to be some press. Do you want ear plugs?"

Bucky took the ear plugs and put them in, snug. He pulled the blanket back up over his head and shut his eyes, and the door to the limousine opened. He didn't so much hear the press as feel them, felt a cacophony like the wind, but unable to make it out. He didn't like it. He was being pulled by Natasha, who held his hands in hers as the walked, the med tech following behind and guiding him with light pressure to his back, the security guard leading the way and making sure no press crossedthe ropes. As soon as they were in the large loading bay doors closed from above, and Bucky felt himself being lead into a cool room. He heard a ding and figured that was an elevator, and he was proven right when he was ushered into a small room and suddenly felt them being propelled upward.

Reaching out slowly with his flesh hand, Bucky felt the walls on one side of himself, and then the other. He sucked in a

breath, at which Natasha gently grabbed his flesh hand again and whispered in Russian. Bucky focused on that until the

elevator dinged, and she let him off of the elevator, taking his hands in hers.

'Easy,' she said, pulling the blanket down again. Bucky blinked as the light hit his eyes. He looked around at his surroundings suspiciously, gritting his teeth at the newness of it all. It smelled strange, like the place had been well dusted and kept but not sterile or dank, two smells he was more used to.

"This is your floor. You only have access to a few of the rooms right now," said Natasha, apologetically. "Banner suggested not overwhelming you,"

"He's my doctor?" asked Buck, pulling in on himself as he suddenly did start to feel overwhelmed. Aside from missions, the only time he was ever let out of the tank was for experiments. His association with space and torture making him feel queasy, like he was falling through space all of a sudden.

"whoa... easy there," said the red head, taking his wrists and leading him to the couch. It was an old fashioned leather couch, sitting on a plush rug and with a few throw pillows resting on it. In front of the couch was a coffee table, a tv, and a few books off to the side on a sparse shelf. Bucky was anxious, and quite frankly felt sick, but he also still found himself filled with curiosity.

The security guard left, and that elevated a tiny bit of Buck's tension, and he looked about a little bit more boldly, noticing the next room.

It was a bedroom with the door open, a thick futon mattress on the floor, with a folded quilt and covered in a blue blanket resting on top. He couldn't see the rest of the room since the door was only cracked, but it looked normal enough.

"Steve said when he came out of the ice, the weirdest thing was his bed, how thick it was. I suggested the floor futon as a compromise," smiled Natasha, letting Buck have his hands back.

"We're going to leave you soon, so you can settle in. There's clothes, food, and tomorrow I'll come by at o-eight-hundred for breakfast."

"Where's Steve?" inquired Bucky, looking as if he didn't hear any of Natasha's words.

"He's going to visit soon," ventured the med-tech cautiously. "We were worried if you saw him too quickly..."

"I'd hurt him," finished Buck, as if accepting this state of affairs for now.

"We're going to go in a moment, but we have one last thing first," said Natasha, standing up.

Suddenly, a large brown German Shepherd padded slowly into the room.

"This is Sasha, she's a therapy dog," explained Natasha, reaching out and petting the large canine behind the ears.

Bucky cooked his head to the side at the strange sight of the black widow petting the dog, which gently approached and put her snout in his lap. He stared at the dog as if she were an alien, and after a minute reached out and pet her squarely between the ears.

"Good dog," he stated, as if making more of a descriptive declaration than a praise.

"She's trained to stop panic attacks," explained the med tech, standing up. "we're going to give you some privacy now. Try to take it easy, and here, if you need anything, use this." She handed him a small round remote with a single button to press if there was an emergency.

"We're here if you need us," said the black widow, smiling again at Buck and nodding, before she and the med tech left through the elevator door.

Bucky stood alone for a few minutes, breathing slowly. After a minute of the dog padded at him with her paw, he stood up. Slowly, he did a security check of the apartments. There were security cameras in the elevator door, a webcam like device on top of the VCR (who even had one of those anymore?) and several more in the wall along the corridor, in the door frame of the bedroom, and the kitchen.

When Buck got to the bathroom, he paused. He hated tight spaces. Bathrooms were usually small, porcelain... He stepped away from the bathroom door, stepping on a white pad on the floor. He figured that was for the dog to go on, and stepped of, thinking of what to do.

"I know you're watching me," he said, surrendered to that reality. Mere hours before, he probably would have debugged the place. Now, however, he decided to leave the devices for now.

He ventured to explore his bedroom, and found a closet full of neat clothes, a writing desk with paper and pens, a journal, a bed side table, even a small basket of dog toys.

Sasha entered the room after him; he sat down at a desk before he noticed her, sitting next to him with a ball in her mouth. He reached out and took the ball, gave it a toss, and ignored the dog as she went to go chase it. He opened the journal and begun to write

 _Sargeant Barnes' log, 001. I don't know what day it is. I miss Steve. Cooperating. I have a dog now_.

He looked and noticed that the dog had brought back the ball. She held it lopsided in her mouth and clearly wanted him to throw it again. He obliged, turned back to his journal, and then decided he had nothing else to write at this point.

Not really knowing who he was except for fragmented memories, a baseline personality held under constant siege of triggers, brainwashing, and stress, and a new state of being that resembled that of a feral animal, that last one feeling the safest and most natural at this point, and he figured it was better to sort out his thoughts slowly.

After a rather mechanical game of fetch with his dog, he walked into the kitchen and looked around. A note on the small refrigerator read 'hot meal in the oven.' Opening it he found a mug of creamy tomato soup, and a plate with a slice of roast chicken, mixed vegetables, a bread role, and mashed potatoes with pork gravy. The smell was strange, and he looked around for something more like what he was used to. Peering to the side of the oven, he noticed a dispenser in the wall above the dog's food bowl. He carefully pulled the mug and plate out of the oven, setting them on the counter and then grabbing the bowl of kibbles. He found an extra plate after a moment of rummaging through the cabinets, and poured the kibble from the bowl onto the plate. The dog stared at him with her head cocked to the side as he scrapped the mashed potatoes, mixed vegetables, and chicken breast into her bowl. He then poured the tomato soup over his plate of kibble, set the potato-veggie-chicken bowl on the floor under the table, and sat down. He ate his food like that, chewing the kibble quietly and occasionally taking a bite of bread. The dog inhaled her dinner, but Bucky took his time, contemplating how to avoid getting chewed up for this, worried about explaining that his stomach hurt and soft foods and muted flavors were what he was fed whenever out for the past seventy years.

After eating, he realized that he needed to go to the restroom. Sitting there starring at the bathroom door for a long time, he finally decided to take action. He walked over to the kitchen sink and pissed into it, not wanting to think about when he had to do other things later.

He decided not to think about how inhuman he felt. Instead, he sat down on the couch and decided to see if he could have a smoke. He searched drawers of the coffee table, but instead found a box of something called 'nicotine patches.' He read the directions and the note that read 'sorry, you can't have matches or a lighter,' and slapped several on his flesh arm.

Finally, he laid back on the couch, and the dog jumped up on top of him. He regarded her for a moment, but decided that she felt nice on top of his chest and that she was warm, and petted her gently as he laid back. "Good dog," he said again, and the dog seemed to like the dull statement, because

she licked his face then laid her head down. Bucky went to sleep like that, lying on the couch, still in his clothes, with an arm covered in nicotine patches, and a protective dog on his chest.


	3. Chapter 2 Thank you

**Author's Note: Thank you to my readers for liking my story, even though its kinda weird and personal. Please share and comment. I would love the feedback!**

A loud rapping on the door pulled Bucky out of what could only be described as an intense, deep waiting state. He had slept some, but didn't dream that much. Most of the night he had lain on the couch with his eyes closed and the dog on this chest. He had been concentrating on trying not to think too much. His thoughts went, places... He was focused on staying free of thought and enjoying the warmth of the dog and on breathing. But the sound of someone knocking to be let in caused him to jolt upright, sweat pouring down his face as he wriggled out from under the dog and onto the floor.

"It's just Nat," came a voice from the other side of the door. He knew that it was her, but he continued to hyperventilate on the floor between the couch and the coffee table. The dog quickly took action, getting back on top of Buck and licking at his face to calm the soldier down. Bucky didn't even try to stop her, he just allowed Sasha to lick him until his breathing slowed. He then looked directly into the dog's eyes. "Good job," he murmured, scratching her ears with his mechanical hand while pushing her off of his chest with his flesh arm.

"Is everything okay in there? I have a key so I can just come right in," said Natasha from the other side of the door, tentatively.

"That's fine," said Bucky, slowly pulling himself up using the coffee table. "Come on in."

The door clicked and opened, and Natasha walked in, keeping her hands were Bucky could see them and her eyes level with his.

"Hey, take it easy there soldier," she said with a wry smile, "This isn't a training exercise or a drill."

Bucky narrowed his eyes at her, but then shook his head, deciding that Nat's teasing was just a way of making him feel more comfortable. They stood there in awkward silence for another moment, and then Bucky pointed at the dog and said, "she is quite effective at her job."

"Yeah, Sasha was trained by a soldier with PTSD, so she's prepared for anything," she said, giving Sasha a pat before heading toward the kitchen and adding, "I'm gonna get breakfast started. Want some coffee?"

Bucky stood for a moment thinking about the word PTSD, unfamiliar with the terminology. But then shook his head and quickly answered, "I'm currently nursing a seventy-plus year caffeine headache. Yeah, I'd love some."

At this Nat begun working on the coffee while Bucky watched, until she pulled out a pot and asked him to fill it with water. He obliged and then set the pot on the stove, and Nat added several scoops of oatmeal into the water. She then poured two big mugs of coffee and Bucky followed her to the table, where he basically inhaled his, and then promptly poured himself a second cup.

"Whoa, you weren't exaggerating," observed the red head with a raised eyebrow, almost impressed.

"I don't exaggerate," stated Bucky flatly. Before he took another sip and then frowned, asking hesitantly, "what is PTSD?"

"Shell shock, basically," clarified Nat, remembering that Bucky wouldn't have known the modern terminology. "It stands for post traumatic stress disorder."

Bucky mouthed these words as Natasha continued to explain. "It describes the condition when its not combat related, it turns out one's nerves can be pushed near or over the breaking point by things other than bullets. So that term is meant to describe anyone who suffers from a certain perimeter of symptoms due to a traumatic event." At this she got up to attend to the oatmeal, adding sugar, salt, and some raisins as Bucky thought about this. She then promptly set a bowl and a spoon in front of him, sitting down and tucking into hers

He tentatively tasted the bowl in front of him, eating slowly as if thinking about every bite.

"Better than dog food, isn't it?" asked Nat bluntly, locking eyes with the Soldier before looking away, sadly. "I told Stark you had a sensitive stomach. The food you found last night was his version of 'simple.' I had to show him the footage of what you did with that meal to get him to cancel having a full breakfast sent up here."

Bucky breathed before he answered, taking another slow bite before answering, embarrassed, "I ate food pellets, sometimes soups. Even a beet or two if I was lucky."

"Oh, well I have to make you my famous borscht, then," she responded with a smile. Then she said flatly, "don't be embarrassed, I once ate the raw kidneys of a dog that died while we were stranded in the Siberian Wilderness." She shuddered at this, as if remembering the dog sadly. "You're not the only one who's done extreme things to survive, or to cope."

The two of them finished their meal in silence. It seemed to take forever to eat. Swallowing something as substantial as oatmeal was difficult for Bucky, who looked almost pained by the act of eating by the time he finished his. Nat got up to put the dishes in the sink, but Bucky sat there slumped in his seat, unmoving as he asked, "did you see what I did after I ate?"

"Yes," said Natasha simply, scrubbing the bowls with a sponge.

"Small spaces, sterile... I..." Bucky couldn't speak, and Sasha sat up at attention at his demeanor, paying close attention to his nonverbal cues. Natasha put down the bowl and walked over to Buck, and placed a hand above his knee but not making contact, unsure how he would respond. "I know. I should have showed you last night. The bathroom has been modified to be more... welcoming, than I think you're thinking."

Bucky just gave her a confused look, but the redhead simply walked over to the bathroom and opened the door. The room on the other side had a floor that was carpeted except for up to a foot in width of tile around the toilet and the bathtub/shower. The bathtub was wide and round, big enough to be used as a jacuzzi. The wall the tub was connected to was made of glass, so that Bucky could see outside. It seemed spacious, beautiful, even.

"Did you?" asked Buck, almost afraid to ask.

"Yeah, I insisted on these quarters because I knew you wouldn't be okay with normal bathrooms. And before you ask, that glass is tinted on the other side, so that no one can see in."

"Oh my god," murmured Buck, getting up and hugging Natasha, who allowed him, awkwardly.

"No problem," she said, returning the hug and then stepping away.

I"m gonna..." begun Buck, and Nat quickly added, "of course, take as much time as you need to get cleaned up. Besides, that coffee should be taking affect on your bowels in ways that only coffee does any minute now."

When Bucky emerged from the bathroom thirty minutes later, he seemed a bit more relaxed. He was wearing a clean pair of pants and a white t-shirt, and he had shaven his face. There was a nick or two on his face that were healing quickly, and he seemed to have let out a breath he had been holding the whole time that he had been there.

"Good shower," asked Nat, sitting on the couch and petting Sasha, absentmindedly.

Bucky nodded, and then, looking away, said, "please don't knock. Just come right in. It will make me less nervous."

Nat raised an eyebrow but didn't object, and then said, "You have an appointment today with Dr. Helen Cho. Her research has been on HYDRA's enhanced humans, helping them, specifically. She can address any lingering medical conditions that you might have. You also have a psychiatrist appointment later.

I... um," Bucky bit his lip, not making eye contact with Nat at the thought of meeting any doctors. Reading his thoughts, Natasha said, "the physical can take place here instead of in her office. Its all arranged. You can even have Steve skype in on the appointment."

At this Bucky perked up, interested in talking to Steve, but not knowing what 'Skyp' was.

"Its like a phone call where you can talk through a computer screen so you can see each other in real time," explained Nat. "He can't skype in for the psychiatry appointment, but that's just a doctor who talks to you about your mental state. "

Bucky looked like he wanted to shake, but Nat quickly got up and led him to the book shelf, showing him some books from his era as well as some movies, old and new. This got Bucky to relax and refocus, anxious to enjoy some of what he had missed. Eventually, he picked a movie, _The Graduate._

He settled on the couch with Nat, calmly watching the movie, anxious and excited about what was to come, Sasha settled in his lap, at the ready to protect him. He turned to Natasha as the movie's opening credits started to play, and simply said, "thank you." He meant it, too.


End file.
